A Wrinkle In Time
by Colouredsoul
Summary: A week before his wedding, a medical mix-up causes Harry to revert to his form as a two-year-old! Can Hermione and Ginny bring him back before the wedding? More importantly, can they cope with the hilarity and trials of living with an energetic kid, as his childhood speeds by on fast-forward?


Chaos definitely reigned supreme this cold October afternoon. I grabbed the hood of my cloak, fighting to keep it securely over my head as the roaring wind grabbed at it, pushing it in the opposite direction. Cars around me beeped at each other and at passing pedestrians, everyone eager to escape the sudden, torrential downpour.

Tucking the precious package I'd obtained earlier against my chest, underneath my cloak, I stood at the curb, waiting for my chance to cross the street. The wind blew the falling raindrops into needle-sharp points that stung my face and hands, not to mention greatly reduced my visibility. I _really _hoped I didn't get hit by some car today, just a mere week away from my wedding.

Ah, yes, the wedding...I leaped off the curb and dashed through the sea of cars. Just one more week, and Harry and I would be married. Just one week, and...

_Screeeeech!_ I was enfungled by a sheet of freezing water as the earsplitting screech of a car assailed my ears. Merlin's beard, what did the world have against me?

"Oi, you! You walkin' about with your eyes closed?" I pulled my now-soaking hair away from my eyes to see a bloodshot-eyed bloke, sticking his head out the window of his car. By the looks of that scruffy face, he must have lost his razor at least a week ago, or maybe been just too hung over to bother.

"Well, quit mucking about and watch where you're going, you brainsick bird!" he bellowed, while his equally scruffy friend in the passenger's seat gave me the finger.

Since they were Muggles, I could do no more than scowl and move out of their way. Of course, a barbed jibe about the perils of driving with a hangover reached me _after _the multitude of cars began to continue on their stormy parade.

Oh well. Splashing through the puddle of rainwater that led to the gutter, I reached the other side with no further difficulties. I continued down this sidewalk—walking with the wind this time, thankfully- and, after a few minutes, I turned onto Grimmauld Place.

Another thrill went through my body as I watched Number Thirteen appear in front of me. In one week, I could truly call it home. It would be _my house_. I pictured my future address: Mrs. Ginny Potter, 13 Grimmauld Place. Me and Harry. Mr. and Mrs. Potter...

"Mrs. Potter," I whispered quietly to myself. It sounded so right. I'd dreamed about that name being mine for years, but now I could say it with certainty. Finally, after the war and losing Fred, and Tonks and Lupin, and all the other terrible things that happened, finally I could be...

"Mrs. Potter!" I whooped loudly. I stuck the package I had been holding into my belt, clasped my hands above my head and began twirling on the sidewalk, rain and wind forgotten.

I had completed quite a few rotations—and quite gracefully, if I do say so myself- before I caught sight of a horrified expression against the blurry background of houses and trees as they whizzed past me. I came to an abrupt stop, nearly falling over. Catching myself just in time, I raised my head and looked around. About twenty metres away from me, a woman in her twenties, wearing a bright yellow slicker and galoshes was staring at me.

I blushed, thinking how ridiculous I must have looked. The, deciding that my black witch's cloak must not have contributed my making a good impression, I gave her a cheery smile that, I hoped, radiated pure light on this gloomy afternoon. I don't think it worked too well, because she gave me a wary look in return and continued on her way, giving me a backward glance as I gazed at the (apparently) empty space between Number 12 and 14.

As soon as she was out of sight, I bounded up the narrow steps and tapped the door with my wand. From behind the door, the familiar grinding and rattling of the lock sounded, and a moment later, the heavy door swung open to reveal the dark hallway- though admittedly less dark than it had been when we had first occupied it at the beginning of Harry's fifth year. My beloved fiancee had finally had enough of the gloominess of the house ( 'Merlin's beard, just because they're _called_ Black doesn't mean they have to impersonate the inside of a funeral home!') and had installed braziers at every corner, in addition to the many windows he'd had built in the most random places, such as inside the linen closet. Well, I'm sure the pillowcases enjoyed the view.

"I'm hoooooome!" I yelled as I reached the kitchen, and was answered with a resounding _Achoo _that rattled the sturdy walls.

The aforementioned beloved fiancee came into the room with another resounding sneeze, holding a hanky and looking stellar as usual in his rumpled sweats and holey tank top, which showed off his biceps wonderfully. A career as an Auror wasn't all desk jobs and writing reports, oh no. There was punching and kicking to be done, high-speed chases to be accomplished, and wrestling-a-struggling-Death-Eater-into-a-cell to be practised. All which did much for his physique. Yes, yes, I was marrying him for his kind and loving heart, but I could still enjoy the additional perks. (What? It's the truth! Stop giving me that look!)

"Hi, Harry!" I said cheerily, taking off my cloak and hanging it up. "How are you feeling?"

"Achoo!"he replied. Merlin's pants, when was I going to get a proper answer? Not even a civilized greeting. Men, I tell you.

"Hi, Ginny," he replied finally, his voice hoarse from all the sneezing and coughing, not to mention very congested-sounding on account of his plugged nose. Did I neglect to mention that my beloved fiancee was suffering from a very bad cold? And when I say very, I mean very. As in VERY.

You get the point?

Anyway, I bounded up to hug him, but he frantically waved me off with a panicky look in his eyes. "Dond wan' you to cadtch it," he said thickly.

"Right-o." I turned my attention to the precious package I'd risked my life—well, sorta—to bring to him. "Here it is. A flask of Qwik Pepper-Up Potion!"

Qwik Potions were the very latest in apothecary fashion. They were flasks containing the ingredients you'd need for a particular potion, already mixed. You'd read the instructions on the side of the flask (carefully) then you'd pour in the specified amount of water or toadspawn or dragon urine or whatever (carefully) then you'd let it sit for a while (carefully) then you'd drink it (did I mention carefully?). Of course, they were only available for the simpler potions that didn't require the ingredients to be added in a certain order under the full moon three weeks apart. I don't think anyone was thick enough to try _that. _According to Hermione, Qwik Potions were the wizarding version of cake mixes and instant coffee. I didn't really believe her. After all, who could possibly be stupid enough to try to make their coffee _instantly? _Anyone with a speck of sense knows that good coffee must be brewed slowly, or it ends up tasting like dishwater in which coffee dregs have fallen into. And they call us impatient!

"It says here the prep time is three hours," I said, examining the label. "I'll prepare it right away. In the meantime, want a cup of tea?"

Harry shook his head. "Doe thens, I thin' I'd bedder ged sub sleeb," he said.

"Sure," I replied. 'I'll wake you up when it's ready."

With a grateful nod, (or a gredeful dod, depending on who you're asking) he turned back and went upstairs to the room that we would soon be sharing.

I added a cup of cold water, re-corked the flask, and put in on a side table in the tapestry room. The tapestry room, in case you're wondering, was the Abominable Room in which the tapestry depicting the Black family tree hung. Since it was affixed to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm, thereby making it impossible for us to build a bonfire of it and dance around it while it burned, shrieking war cries, an old sheet had been tossed over it and the room was now a miniature infirmary, perhaps in an effort to right the damage that the previous Blacks had caused.

After leaving the flask to sit, I returned downstairs and I pulled a book Hermione had lent me from the shelf. It was called _Pride and Prejudice _and, despite it being a Muggle novel, which meant that things often transpired in annoying ways (like, for example, Jane having to travel over the countryside in the rain and get desperately ill when she could have just used Floo powder) it was quite good. So good, in fact, that I didn't hear the door open till someone tapped me on the shoulder.

"Aaah!" I shrieked, leaping off my seat to face the attacker, who turned out to be just my sister-in-law. "Hermione Weasley, what did you do that for?"

Instead of producing the intended effect, made a sappy look appear on her face. "I'll never get tired of being called that," she said dreamily. Not the Lune Lovegood kind of dreamy, but the lovesick kind of dreamy.

"Oh, come on," I said grumpily, bending to pick up the book, which had fallen onto the floor. "You've been married a whole three months." I studiously ignored the fact that I'd also been enchanted by the same name-spell and had done much worse.

"Well, the novelty never wears off," Hermione said happily. "I got home five minutes ago. I'm surprised you didn't hear me."

"Yeah, well, it's a good book. And you've made me lose my place! I was just getting to the interesting part."

"Which part was that?" Hermione asked, her usual sensible self returning, much to my relief.

"That insufferable Mr. Collins is about to propose to her!"

"Well," said Hermione with an annoying smile. "You're just going to have to wait to see what happens." She held up a catalogue. "We need to make the final choice on the flowers you want. You promised me we'd do them together, remember?"

"Right," I dragged my chair over to the table and sat down. Sorry, Elizabeth Bennett, my wedding is more important than yours. Then I paused, worried. "Hermione?"

"Mmmm?" she answered vaguely, preoccupied with the catalogue.

"Does she accept Mr. Collins's proposal?" If it had been me, I would have given him two tight slaps, but heroines, especially in Muggle novels, seemed to do strange things.

Hermione choked on air, so great was her shock. "Merlin's pants!" she yelped after she'd recovered. "Would you?"

"No, but the girl in_ Nicholas Nickelby _married a guy about fifty years older, just because her dad said so. And that was _after_ Nicholas said he loved her!"

"Firstly, she didn't actually end up marrying him, she only accepted his proposal, and secondly, her dad was a selfish..."

"But she would have! Only her dad died while he was coming to fetch her, and so she couldn't marry the guy because her dad couldn't give her away."

"Well, Mr. Bennett isn't selfish, so Elizabeth won't be pressured to marry Collins." Hermione said.

"But what happens?" I _had _to know.

"Not telling! Now get over here and pick out your darn flowers!"

Half an hour later, I'd picked out an arrangement of red and white roses for my bouquet, and a single white rose for my hair ("it'll stand out nicely" Hermione said) and we were done.

"You're sleeping over tonight?" Hermione asked.

Ron and Hermione had been married in July, and, since they were both just beginning their careers, (Ron as business manager for the Weasleys's Wizarding Wheezes company, and Hermione as a promising young addition to the Ministry of Magic under Minister Shacklebolt) they were living with Harry at Grimmauld Place until they could get their own apartment. I'd slept over quite often—no, NOT with Harry, so stop looking at me like that!-going back and forth from my childhood home to my future home as we made preparations for the wedding. I'd packed up the last of my things today.

"Yeah," I answered. "Mum told me not to try to get back in this weather, since I insisted on getting out to get Harry a Pepper-Up Potion. She and I have finished making the adjustments on the wedding gown, so there's not much else to be done till the wedding"

"You're lucky," Hermione said, putting away the catalogue. "I was running around like mad right till the day of."

"Well, you had a lot more things to arrange, didn't you?" I looked at the clock. "Wow, nine already? I'd better wake up Harry, the potion's ready. I'll be back, 'kay?"

"Take your time," Hermione said absently, poring over a sheaf of parchment covered in official-looking seals she'd produced from somewhere. Always working, that Hermione.

I made my way up the stairs and entered Harry's room. He was half buried in the sheets and pillows, snoring away. (He doesn't usually do that. It was because of his cold) I shook his shoulder gently.

"Harry, wake up! Your potion's ready."

He groaned and rolled over to face me. "What dime is id?" he asked, squinting blearily at the curtained window.

"Nine o'clock," I answered. "You have to stay awake after you drink it, so wash up first, and I'll put the flask the tapestry room, okay?"He nodded into the pillow.

"And for goodness sakes, don't go back to sleep!" I yanked the blanket off of him and dropped it onto the floor.

"Berlin," he grumped, but sat up. I waited till I was absolutely sure he wouldn't go back to sleep, then I went back downstairs and picked up _Pride and Prejudice _from where I'd left off.

Thankfully, Elizabeth did not accept Mr. Collins's proposal, and I was enjoying the chaos that ensued after her rejection, when Hermione spoke up.

"Was that a Qwik Potion I saw upstairs in the tapestry room?" she asked without looking up from her work.

"Yeah," I replied, slightly irked to be disturbed. "It's for Harry's cold, I put it up there to prepare. That reminds me, I'd better go up and check if he took it." Reluctantly I closed the book. "Probably just rolled over and went back to sleep the minute I shut the door, the old..."

I dropped the book on the floor as Hermione gasped loudly. I looked up to see her staring at me with a horror-struck expression, her eyes round as Galleons.

"What?" I demanded. "It's not a crime if I want to save myself a bit of work! Besides we didn't have the ingredients to brew it from scratch. If..."

"That—_that_ was for Harry?"Hermione cried.

"Did you drink it?" I asked, torn between amusement and annoyance. "Well, that's fine, it just means I'll have to go out again and..."

"It's not that!" Hermione stood up, clutching the table for support. "It's..just...that flask..."

""Merlin's pants, Hermione! I can't understand a word of what you're trying to say!"

"Ginny!" Hermione shrieked. "_That's not Pepper-__Up Potion!"_

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling scared now. "That's what it said on the label!"

"No, not that one!" Hermione said, a panicked note in her voice. "I didn't realize you'd put that out for Harry, so I put it away, and I'd brought another potion from work, and I put that one on the table! It's from the..." But I was already off and running.

I shot out of the kitchen and down the hallway like a bullet. I reached the stairs,grabbed the banister and used it to push off, making it shake and creak. I thundered up the stairs, taking them two at a time, Hermione hot on my heels. She was still talking rapidly.

"It's from the Department for Experimental Charms, and it's a combination of very strong potion, blended with three hundered percent of its antidote..."

I reached the landing and raced down the hall to Harry's bedroom. The door was closed. As I approached it, I threw out an arm and bodily whacked it open.

The room was empty.

We immediately turned tail and ran towards the Tapestry Room. I only hoped we weren't too late.

Hermione reached the door before me and threw it open. It hit the wall behind it and rebounded, cutting off my view. I impatiently pushed it aside and stared into the room.

It was also empty.

Hermione was next to the table in a second. She held up an empty flask.

"So..." I desperately tried to make sense of it all. "He _did _drink the potion? But where..." My voice trailed off. Then it came back."What sort of potion was it?" I screamed.

"Ginny, calm down..."

"I can't! If he..." The awful feeling I'd got at the battle of Hogwarts, when I'd thought he was dead, came seeping back. I collapsed to the floor, sobbing wildly.

"Ginny," Hermione said quietly. But I just curled up into a ball and sobbed harder.

"Ginny!" Hermione said, more urgently. I didn't respond. I should have been up there. I should have made sure Harry got the right potion. I should have...

All of a sudden, I felt a small hand stroking my hair.

"Don't cwy Dinny," said a voice that certainly wasn't Hermione's.

That had done it. I had finally gone mad with grief.

" 'Thall wight Dinny," the same baby voice continued. "Don't cwy, it makth me thcawed."

I took my hands away from my face. Next to the table, Hermione was still standing, staring wide-eyes at something next to me. I looked to see what had caught her attention.

A small boy, was squatting next to me, a worried look in his bright green eyes. His jet-black hair stood up in all directions, and he was clad in an extremely loose garment that rather looked like a tube dress. One of his arms had emerged from this, and was outstretched in my direction. A lock of my hair still stood bright red between his fingers.

_Could it be..._

_Certainly not!_

_But it has to be!_

_Who else..._

Different sides of my brain chattered and stuttered in confusion. I felt dizzy.

"Harry?"


End file.
